


equal opposite reaction

by that_this_will_do



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Feminization, Humiliation, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Martial Arts, Painplay, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23764552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_this_will_do/pseuds/that_this_will_do
Summary: There’s only so much disrespect Alex can throw at him, only so much he do in the hopes of goading Washington to action.They should really talk about this.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington
Comments: 7
Kudos: 72





	equal opposite reaction

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Was Weak, I Was Awake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359638) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> please read the tags. inspired by the "pay for his behavior series" (which is fantastic, and i did not write it, and you should read it). this will probably make more sense if you're familiar with that au, but suffice it to say alex and washington practice martial arts, alex is better than almost everyone, except washington. and he likes it when washington points that out, sort of. seriously, go read Beating Me, Mistreating Me. it'll make more sense.
> 
> bad bdsm etiquette ahead. everyone has a good time, but do not try this at home.
> 
> final version as of May 23rd, 2020

They’d done this once before. Him in lace, Washington’s hands on top of that.

It was a night after work, on a day they didn’t have class. Separate, from the rest of their lives. Part of a secret. He’d felt like the Other Woman, sort of. Like Alex-Pretending-to-be-the-Other-Woman, at least. It had been fun, the word “panties” tossed around for the silly, pseudo-risque thing it was. “Pretty baby,” Washington had said, when he spoke at all, and with a little bit of a chuckle, like they were sharing a joke. The rest of the time, he’d had Washington’s lips on his, and his palm to grind against. Washington had come against fabric at his hip with a breathy groan, and they’d thrown away the panties after they were done. Cheap and soiled--they weren’t worth holding onto. The next morning, when Alex rolled into the gym, he’d felt like himself. 

And really, it was good. If he’d had nothing to compare it to, it would have been fine. The sly grin on George’s face would have been enough.

But the next time they’d sparred, the last moment before he’d tapped out, he could feel all the strength Washington wasn’t using. Whether because he didn’t need to, or he thought Alex couldn’t handle it, or because Washington was just an _easy-going_ _guy_ who didn’t run at every challenge throwing caution to the wind, the distance made Alex burn. 

There was only so much disrespect Alex could throw at him, only so much he could do in the hopes of goading Washington to action. At a certain point, he had to start lying. And the lie had started tasting like ash in his mouth.

Inexplicably, like some bitter aftertaste he had to get rid of. But he wanted Washington's ire. He wanted his anger. Or, at least he wanted the power it brought. This was his only way to get there. 

They should really talk about that.

“Hey.”

John Laurens’s voice broke his introspective fog. Alex whipped around, clumsily retying the string on his gi pants before they could slip and show more than he wanted Laurens to know. 

“Hey,” he said, giving an up-nod. The motion made his neck twinge.

“I didn’t hit you too hard, did I?” 

A bruise was blooming across Alex’s left shoulder from when Lauren’s slammed him against a wall, currently hidden beneath his shirts. Purple and blue, tender to the touch. But he shook his head.

“Nah." His loose hair fell into his face, whisping on his cheeks.

In truth, all of his muscles were aching. He was in the gym hours before first class started, and today was double day. But Laurens was one of the only people at the dojo who fought as hard as he did, who didn’t hold back, even if he didn’t reach quite Alex’s threshold.

“Busy tonight?” Laurens asked. “It’s Friday. Drinks?”

“Man, I’m gonna go home and sleep,” Alex said, ignoring Lauren’s answering  _ laame  _ as he pulled his hair up.

At last, mindful of the thinner, lighter straps under his t-shirt, he hoisted his gym bag over his shoulder and turned to John. “Have fun, but I’m exhausted. Walk out with you?”

They fell into step out of the locker room, and Alex let his mind wander from Lauren’s chatter. His eyes caught on the glow emanating from under main office door as they passed.

In another universe, he and Laurens might have been friends. Close friends, even. He liked John, in a way. John certainly liked him a flattering amount. Maybe if they’d met earlier, before Alex had gotten good and disenchanted, before he and Angelica crawled up each other’s asses. 

Before he’d gotten involved with Washington.

Outside, the sun was disappearing below the horizon, warm evening light spilling into the waiting room, sky already orange and violet. Purple and blue.

When Laurens pushed the door open, Alex lingered.

“I actually have one more thing to check,” he said, “Catch up with you later?”

“Sure,” John shrugged, hiding his disappointment just slowly enough for Alex to catch. He watched for a moment as Laurens wandered into the parking lot, then turned away.

The light under the office door was calling him. Like some fucked up divine energy. Demanding sacrifice.

Alex came prepared.

He knocked on the door as he pushed it open, leaning on door jam.

Washington was hard at work at his computer, class sheets and business records spread out around him. He gave Alex that half-bemused, half-annoyed expression that meant he was interrupting.

“Hey big man,” he said, and Washington’s brows went up even as his gaze returned to his screen. Flippant disrespect was so easy to settle into.

“I think you should give me a ride back to your place.”

Washington didn’t even look up. “Why?” 

“A good time,” Alex said, voice low and husky. Washington pulled a piece of paper towards him. “I could make it good for you, baby”

Finally, Washington shifted his attention, gaze heavy and assessing. Otherwise unreadable. 

The lace moved under his clothes as Alex swung his shoulders around seductively. “Come on,” he pressed, throwing honey on the words, “You don’t need to be scared, baby. I can take care of you.”

“Shut up,” Washington snapped, but there was something like fondness underneath it. A moment later he sighed, and then he was shutting down the computer, packing up his bag, leading Alex out the main doors.

* * *

Washington’s keys clinked in the bowl by his door as Alex followed him into his house. They both took off their shoes in silence. Rules of Washington’s home. 

Washington also removed his messenger bag and his sweater, which was just really helpful. Alex shucked his gym bag, trying not to focus on the muscles rippling under the thin tanktop Washington had underneath, or his own distracting neglige. Finally Washington turned to Alex and gave him on long look.

Alex tilted his chin up. Unconsciously. A vain attempt to seem competitive.

“You’re filthy,” he said finally. “Go clean up.” And walked off without another word.

Washington lived in a bungalow, one story, two bedrooms, one bathroom, a hallway in the back connecting them. The rest was left as a large open space, sparsely furnished with a couch and a rug when Alex had been over, but probably for private lessons of some type. Too versatile to be pure minimalism. 

Washington didn’t strike him as a minimalist, anyway. Just a wiseass. 

In the bathroom, Alex splashed some water on his face before pulling his shirt off and untying his pants, shrugging them off his legs. He savored the burn of sore muscles as he moved. Once undressed, he examined his reflection, pulling things into place.

A rogue pink lace camisole stretched across his chest, thin straps snaking over his shoulders. A bow fixed just below his clavicle. The bruise spread pretty beneath it. Matching panties too, which framed his asscheeks when he bent over, and cut high over his hips otherwise, his cock tucked soft between his legs. Washington was gonna love this.

He folded his old clothes and left them in a corner, washed out his pits, scrubbed his hands (ignored the voice that echoed Washington’s last command like a proud school teacher), and took his hair down, shaking it to curl around his shoulders. 

With a last glance, he flicked off the light and went to the living room.

Washington’s back was to him when he walked in, although no doubt he heard Alex coming. Ignoring him then, alright. Alex cleared his throat loudly, just to be annoying.

When he finally turned around, Washington did a double-take. A blink-and-you-miss-it type thing. Then he gave him a very satisfying once over, putting his water glass down. 

He took a few steps towards Alex, but stopped, not touching. For a long moment, he just stared at him. The butterflies he thought he’d finally controlled around Washington suddenly came alive--frantic, violent, unsure. Alex squirmed. 

“Aren’t you something?” Washington finally said, almost mocking. 

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” He said, but the tease didn’t quite land. Washington came closer, circled behind him. 

“What are you doing?” Washington murmured, so quiet Alex would have thought he was talking to himself. But he had fire to play with.

“Trying to have a good time,” he said. For all his cocky, his voice shook. “If you’ll drop the shy virgin act, Georgey.”

_ Too close, _ he abruptly realized Washington was too close. But it was too late. Washington wrestled him to his knees.

“Stay." Alex glared up at him.

“I’m not a dog,” he said automatically, abandoning false bravado for real indignation. But he shut up quick. Somewhere in the distant back of his brain still registered a difference between good pissed off and bad pissed off. 

Although Washington standing above him looking ready to prove a point was not helping the message transmit.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you, to show a--” Washington’s hand clapped his ear. Quick and loud and painful. Alex blinked rapidly against the pain.

“Why are you here?”

Alex just swallowed, refused to answer. Like hell was he going to take that road. Not when he had another option.

Then Washington moved. Alex’s head snapped to the side before he knew what was happening, cheek stinging from where Washington slapped him.

“If you do not answer properly, I will send you home. Understand?”

Alex nodded. 

“Words.”

“Yes,” he mumbled. He could hear Washington circling him, settling behind him.

“Yes, what?”

_ I don’t know, what do you think? _ He opened his mouth to say it, but stopped. One of Washington’s hands threaded into his hair. 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. The hand tightened, Washington gripping his shoulder in the other, and he pulled. It hurt. God, it hurt. He couldn’t move with it, lean back into it. It  _ burned. _ His lips parted.

After a moment, Washington relaxed his grip and Alex sagged, scalp tingling.

“Good,” Washington murmured. “Close your eyes.”

He did, the living room disappearing into darkness. All he had to focus on was the ache in his knees, the floor beneath them, Washington’s hands on him, waiting.

“Do you have a safe word?”

_ Skipped a few steps, _ he thought, but he answered sincerely.

“Alabaster.”

Washington’s hands tightened again, and again Alex was caught between two points, stretched, aching, worse than before. Fuck.

His next exhale was audible, and his inhale, shaky and broken, echoed in his ears. Washington’s fingers dug into his bruise, made him bite back a scream. When Washington let go, he almost toppled, scalp throbbing. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes.

“Good,” Washington said. “Is this what you came for?”

Alex nodded. Washington’s grip loosened in warning. “Yes, sir,” he said, and was rewarded with pulling once more. 

He felt Washington shifting, lowering himself behind Alex without letting go. Still not close enough to touch, if Alex stayed still. 

If Alex was good, and stayed still.

“You want me to hurt you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that all you want?”

Alex didn’t know what gave his head permission to shake in contradiction.  _ No, that’s not all. _ He instantly wanted to take it back.

But Washington’s hand slid over his chest, over the lace, to twist his nipple, and he gasped into it.

“What else?” Washington’s breath hot over his ear. Alex didn’t answer, couldn’t answer.

“What else, girl?” Washington growled, “Words, or I’ll let you go.”

_ Girl. _ It rang in his ears, burned the way  _ slut _ did. “I want,” he started, swallowed. “I want you to put me in my place.”

Alex’s face felt like was on fire, mortification creeping up his spine. He held himself still, balanced on the knife’s edge of Washington’s reaction.

After a moment, Washington pulled him flush with his chest. He felt, more than heard, his approving hum, and sagged backwards, into the heat of Washington’s body.

“And where do you think that is?” Washington asked. Alex turned his head, buried what little of his face he could in Washington’s cotton undershirt. Washington tweaked his nipple, almost like encouragement.

“U-under you,” he said. Stuttered. “Yours, to do whatever you want, hurt however you want--”

He cut off with a whine as Washington clamped down on his nipple, pain shooting up his chest

“Why me?” 

“Because you can beat me,” Alex gasped. The fingers pinched tighter. “Because you’re better than me,  _ fuck, _ because you have a right to it, please.”

“What does that make you?” 

“A slut,” he whimpered. 

Washington got his other nipple in his other hand, twisted both hard. Alex cried out.

“A slut?” He demanded, voice loud and harsh, grip not letting up.

“Your slut,” Alex said. He inhaled desperately, trying to get air in, trying to get away from the pain. It hurt.

It  _ hurt. _

It was glorious.

Washington let go and Alex choked, collapsed. He was guided backwards, until he was resting against Washington's chest. He could feel tears, hot and wet, rolling down his cheeks. 

“That’s right,” Washington murmured. Alex breathed out, sunk further into him. “My slut,” he repeated, soft, perhaps even fond.

Alex drifted. Washington’s hands ran over his chest, his shoulders. Every once in a while, his thumbs brushed over his nipples, making lights spark behind his eyes. The lace felt rougher as his skin tingled, and he shifted, coming back to himself.

Washington’s next words were low, almost gentle. 

“You like it when I call you girl.” Alex tried to gather his wits enough to answer, but Washington didn’t press. “You want to be good,” he continued, “but you also want pain. You want to be demeaned. You think you have to be bad to get that.”

Washington paused, and Alex nodded a little against him. His eyes blinked open, and he watched Washington’s hands move absently.

“Isn’t it better,” Washington said, “to ask for what you want, and know that I’m proud of you for admitting what a slutty little girl you are?”

Alex’s breath caught.

He felt lightheaded, his blood abruptly rushing, churning. He burned a different color, a different shade of shame. 

He twisted in Washington’s arms, and Washington let him turn until they were face to face, Alex blinking at his with wide, wet eyes.

Washington returned his gaze, expression almost blank, just the slightest bit questioning.

_ Alabaster, _ Alex thought, remembered. 

“Yes,” he said eventually, high and soft.

Washington relaxed, evidently pleased, and brought his hand up to cup Alex’s face, brush away his tears. 

“And what,” he asked, “do you want?”

“I want you to touch me.”

“Touch you where, girl?”

“My--” Washington’s hand ghosted over his hip, teasing. Testing. “My pussy.”

Washington closed his hand around his cock. “This?”

Alex chewed his bottom lip, blinked to try to get his vision to clear. His whole body was throbbing. He nodded.

“Remind me what you are, again." Alex’s eyes closed as his voice rolled over him.

“A slut. Your slut,” he corrected quickly. “Please.”

Washington tapped his hips gently, and Alex blinked. Looked down at Washington's hands. He slid them under the camisole, pushing it up, up. He paused to twist Alex’s nipples again, hard, until Alex whimpered out a stop, please and he finished pulling the garment over his head.

“Wouldn’t want you to get these dirty,” Washington said.

And maybe it was the  _ you  _ in the sentence, or the way Washington left it to him to pull his trembling muscles and sore, screaming legs together and stand, so that he could remove Alex’s panties. Or maybe it was Washington’s gaze, heavy on Alex’s shaved legs, shaved everything, making him feel like some ten dollar whore. Cheap and soiled. He agreed, he didn’t want to get his pretty underthings dirty either.

Washington set them aside, and coaxed Alex’s back down, though Alex collapsed halfway through it, sprawling on his lap.

“Tired little thing, aren’t you,” Washington murmured above him. Blearily, Alex pushed himself upright and stared plaintively at him.

“Tell me again, what do you want?”

“Touch me,” Alex nearly sobbed. And Washington’s hand curled around his cock.

“Do you want pain as well?”

Oh god. But Alex was already nodding, not enough gumption left to lie.

Washington reached for his nipples again, and Alex whispered faintly no, please no.

“Where, baby?”

Alex took a breath, which did nothing except prolong the moment, then forced past his lips, “My face.”

He flinched as Washington raised his hand, but he only rested two fingers on Alex’s cheek, tapping gently.

“You’re sure?” Alex nodded quickly. “Tell me what you are again.”

“Your slut,” he breathed. Washington’s palm cracked across his face.

“Again.”

“Your slut.”

Washington slapped his other cheek, starting stroking his cock slowly.

“Again.”

“I’m a slut, yours, please,” Alex moaned. And Washington’s hand came down once more.

“Again.”

And again. And again. Alex lost track of how long it was until he was shaking, begging through each hit, hips jerking and thrusting into Washington’s fist.

“Please, please, please, can I?” Washington’s grip twisted and he shrieked.

Washington hiked his shirt up, speeding his hand on Alex's cock, leaning to give Alex a better angle.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, braced his hands against Washington’s shoulders, fucking Washington’s fist in earnest. He must have looked pathetic, desperate and wanton.

“Yeah,” Washington groaned, “Make a mess, you dirty little thing.”

His orgasm slammed through him, and he came splattering onto Washington’s abdomen, over his fist, onto his own stomach. Shook with the force of it, and it seemed to go on, and on. Double into itself and keep going.

His face had been wet since Washington started hitting him, now he broke. Tears came freely, overstimulation and mental overload and exhaustion flooding his system. He didn’t really register moving, except to feel himself being pulled into Washington’s chest, except for there suddenly being a shoulder for him to bury his face in.

“Good boy,” Washington murmured. “Good. You did so well.”

He let Alex cry, stroking a gentle hand through his hair. What felt like weeks of pent-up frustration and post-fight lows left him, released with each shuddering sob. Washington’s lips pressed into his hair.

“So good for me, I’m so proud of you, Alex.”

He calmed enough to sit up, blink into Washington’s gaze, which had turned kind and soft. He tried to ignore how much of a mess he was.

“Kiss me,” he pleaded.

Washington didn’t make him wait. His lips were hot, mouth wet, and sure. Alex let himself be kissed, moved lazily to reciprocate. 

He could feel Washington’s lingering erection underneath him, and he dropped a hand to his lap to fumble at it. Washington caught his wrist. Alex frowned.

“Later,” Washington mumbled. He was too tired to argue.

Eventually, Washington stood. Alex tried to follow, but when his knees buckled, Washington hoisted him up, one arm under his bum like carrying a child. Alex curled his legs around Washington’s waist anyway.

He carried him to the bathroom, setting him down on the toilet lid, and got a wet washcloth to clean him off. Alex drifted as he worked, hissing when Washington started dabbing bruise cream over his shoulder and right cheek. 

Eventually, conscious thought returned. A question formed. “Am I staying the night?”

Washington gave him a look, part fond, part exasperated.

“You’d be hard pressed to convince me you’re in fit condition to leave.” Alex's chest warmed.

“Do you want to sleep by yourself?”

Apparently the embarrassing honesty hadn’t worn off, because Alex shook his head immediately. But Washington smiled, like he was pleased. Grateful? Something else to think of tomorrow.

He had enough energy to walk to the bedroom under his own power, one of Washington’s arms around him for support. He curled onto his good side once he made it to the bed, and Washington just chuckled.

Alex hummed a little as he watched Washington finally undress, and a little more when he didn’t put something else on, and slid into bed behind Alex nude, spooning around him, skin to skin.

Alex could feel himself fading, the world fluttering in and out, and so the question tumbled from his lips before he even processed it.

“Do you like me?”

Washington laughed under his breath behind him, like he couldn’t believe the question. Then he curled his arms, pulling Alex closer.

“Yes, Alexander, I like you very much.”


End file.
